


To Good Treats and Better Friends

by Tarnit



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Doctor/Patient, Gen, M/M, implied - Freeform, they're not actually together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-13
Updated: 2016-12-13
Packaged: 2018-09-08 09:49:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8839933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tarnit/pseuds/Tarnit
Summary: “There’s this couple’s contest, and I know we’re not dating, but the grand prize is this big ass load of food– help me.” (Whirl/Rung!)
Requested prompt fill on tumblr by xensilverquill





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [xensilverquill](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xensilverquill/gifts).



“WHIRL! I NEED YOU TO GO ON A DATE WITH ME!” 

Midway through pouring another shot of engex down his intake, the helomech in question suddenly sputtered the caustic liquid into his vents. Coughing hoarsely with a cry of shock, his claw gripped the table hard enough to dent while the other beat against the underside of his cockpit to dislodge the concentrated alcohol. When the acrid burn had finally subsided enough for him to rejoin the world of those not (quite literally) inhaling their drinks, Whirl looked up to join the bar around him in staring at the usually unobtrusive therapist. 

Rung’s arms were braced wide against the doorway to Swerve’s, glasses knocked askew to expose overbright blue optics, as he scanned the bar with a predator’s intensity. When the diminutive mech’s gaze finally landed on his prey, his expression snapped from scavenging hunger to unhinged glee. Honestly, most of the mechs present were surprised to feel the latter was more unnerving of the two. 

Dashing towards the unruly helicopter, Rung paid no mind to the silence that had fallen over the entire bar as heads turned to follow his progress. Jaws dropped, optics reset, one even requested their table mate hit them to make sure they weren’t in a liquor induced dream. A smack and a curse later revealed that, no, this wasn’t something fabricated by another taint to the energon supply. This was reality. It called for another round of shots, really, but no one wanted to move and miss a moment of what could possibly happen next. 

Whirl, however, had remained unmoved but for the slow widening of his single optic the closer his - dare he say it - friend came to his lonely table. He couldn’t even recover enough wit to spew something obnoxious. Instead, and the ex-Wrecker would deny it to this day, all that came out was a squeaked, “E-Eyebrows? Y-You uhh -” His vocalizer buzzed and clicked as he reset it. “- you doing okay there?” 

He had to resist the sudden urge to shift his arm further away from the table edge as Rung splayed bother his hands over it. The much shorter mech strained upwards on the tips of his pedes, all but draping his upper body onto the table (and giving the rest of the room a fair view of his aft, had anyone been in the mindset to actually look). Fixing his glasses with a small smile more reminiscent of a sharkticon, Rung enunciated slow and deliberate, as if speaking to a sparkling.

“I, Rung of the Pious Pools, wish to take you, Whirl of Polyhex, on a date to the planet we are currently docked at for shore leave.” 

If Whirl still possessed a mouth, it would currently be gaping like an organic water-breathing animal trapped on land. What were those called again? Flesh? Foosh? It didn’t matter, really; what was important to address was the nutty head-doctor asking him out. In the bar. In front of the rest of the crew. Yeup it was time to go. 

“Alright, we’re getting you to Ratchet, right now.” Before Rung could protest otherwise, Whirl had scooped up the smaller frame and tossed him over a shoulder, nearly whacking him the face with the edge of a rotor. “Hold on tight, ‘ol Whirlybird is gonna be a hero.” With a salute to the rest of the room with his free claw, the other carefully curled around Rung’s waist to keep the therapist in place, the helo swaggered from the bar with far more confidence than he felt inside. Behind them, the remaining bar-goers were frozen in silence until Skids keeled over in a dead faint and Swerve began wordlessly pouring a round of shots for everyone present. 

Once out of audio-range from the bar, and alone in the hall, Rung squirmed and tapped the back of Whirl’s shoulder rather politely. “You can let me down now, you know. I don’t think anyone is going to follow us.” His voice was calm and cultured once more with a lilt of a smile to it. 

“Nah,” Whirl replied nonchalantly, entirely unphased by the rapid switch of demeanour. “Gotta keep up pretences if we want them to believe us, right Eyebrows?” He chortled, bouncing his ‘catch’ a few times before relenting and walking on with a smooth pace. “Ain’t no way a good doc like you would ever date a patient unless you were cracked in the head. And I wanna win that frag tonne of energon goodies the squishies are giving out at their contest, damnit!” 

Rung laughed and adjusted his glasses once again, bracing a hand on Whirl’s armour so he didn’t slip right off for a tumble helm over pedes to the floor that was much farther away than he was accustomed to. “What are friends for? As I stated earlier, I am more than happy to help with this endeavour - so long as I get a portion of the winnings, of course.” 

“Hah! You strike a hard bargain, Doc! I didn’t know you had it in ya! How’s this? I split the winnings with ya, 50/50 right? But! You have to eat them with me at the bar all date-like; I ain’t finished messing with them yet.” 

“I believe that is most doable,” Rung hummed, trying to mask another giggle lest he encourage the helo any further. “Here’s to good treats, and even better friends!”

Whirl quieted for a moment, looking back over his shoulder at the small mech he carried, before his optic curve in his version of a smile. “Yeah; here’s to treats..and friends like you, Doc.”


End file.
